Kingdoms Here We Come
by S.K. Millz
Summary: A freak accident leaves Dewey and his brothers stranded in the desert outside Area 51.
1. The Wrong Way

Uncle D was up to his old shtick again. He had the map all wrong. Upside-down, to be exact. Left was right, right was left, and so on to infinity.

Huey'd been glued to the same window for over an hour, holding his breath, hoping to catch a glimpse of that storied Las Vegas skyline, the flashing neon lights, the big commercial airliners swooping down overhead packed with playboys and gamblers and camera-faced tourists.

No such luck.

Outside all was desert and dust, dry spongelike shrubs, miles upon miles of empty sunstained road.

Whoever put Uncle Donald in charge of navigation anyway? Huey wondered aloud, sinking back into his seat with a frustrated sigh.

Louie stirred in his bunk, mumbled something unintelligible, then carried on sleeping.

Search _me,_ I said.

Up front Daisy was doing her best to keep it together. Well we must've missed a turn _somewhere,_ she grumbled.

Uncle D just huffed and puffed, crumpling the map into a tiny ball and lofting it over one shoulder as if that settled it.

The map rolled in by Huey's feet. He scooped it up off the floor and flattened it out on the table. This looks familiar, he said, using one finger to trace the bold yellow line representing Highway 375.

I lowered my bill to the map, followed his roaming finger. Rachel Nevada? I whispered. Didnt we just pass Rachel Nevada?

That means we're heading in the wrong direction, he groaned. We're probably halfway to Groom Lake by now.

It's okay. I hear Area 51's beautiful this time of year.

He glared at me, then gathered the map up in his arms and scampered to the front of the cabin. Daisy—stop the truck, he said, pawing at her shirtsleeve. We're going the wrong way! See?

She took her deeply-veined eyes off the road. The wrong way? How could we be going the wrong way?

Look—Rachel Nevada!

As the RV slowed, Louie rolled over, pushed back his bedsheets and sat up. Then he wiped the sand out of his eyes and gazed down at me with a lazy yawn and asked: Are we there yet?

Not exactly.

Uncle D screwed up the directions again, didnt he?

Lucky guess.

Louie grinned, pulling on his shirt and trademark baseball cap. Not lucky, he corrected me, raising a finger. _Educated._

With that he scurried down the ladder at the foot of the bunk and nabbed Huey's newly vacated seat. Far out, he muttered, pressing his beak to the window. Where the heck are we?

Search _me, _I said.

Meanwhile Huey and Daisy were pointing fingers, scolding a thoroughly red-faced Uncle D for his fallacious map-reading.

Aw phooey, croaked Uncle D.

When it was all over, and Uncle D had finally thrown in the towel, Huey handed the map off to Daisy and swiveled around on his heels and came strutting back into the cabin. His eyes suddenly widened.

Hey—you're in my seat! he cried, tugging at Louie's arm.

_Your _seat? I dont see your name on it!

Dewey doesnt wanna sit next to you anyway!

Oh yeah? I'm sure he'd _much _rather sit next to you!

I could feel a headache coming on.

In a flash the disputed seat was up for grabs and Huey and Louie were under the table trading headlocks. I pulled my feet up, out of their way.

Outside the desert was all aswirl. Little tornadoes of dust and sediment. Terracotta hills. High sun.

I was studying the slow circular flightpath of a lonely desert hawk when what sounded like a distant roll of thunder issued from somewhere beyond the next hill.

Huey and Louie poked their heads out from underneath the table.

What was that?

I dunno.

Huey stole back his seat. Louie squeezed in next to me.

We all gathered around the window, watching in wide-eyed silence as a bright orange flash the size of a small fireworks display rippled out across the sky, bleeding through the clouds like waterpaint, growing steadily in diameter.

Far out, Louie droned.

Then down came the wreckage. A steady hail of warped metal and plastic thumping heavily to the desert floor. A giant triangular aircraft tumbling groundward, headed straight for us. Less than half a mile out and gaining.

Louie tightened his grip on my shoulder.

Daisy! Huey yelled. Step on it!

But the nose of the plane had already touched down, the wings folded in on themselves. A great metallic crashing. A tidal wave of dust lurching up over us, trapping us in its shadow.

I closed my eyes just as the world flipped upside-down.


	2. Thick and Thin

One of my brothers was shouting: Dewey—wake up!

So I did.

My eyelids weighed a ton. Head throbbing. I sat up coughing and choking, as if I'd just been rescued from drowning.

Louie threw his arms around me, squeezed me like a teddybear. He kept saying: Dewey. You're alive. You're okay.

I patted him on the back, squinting crookedly into the dust.

I love you bro.

I love you too, I said.

After a while he let go of me and called out to Huey.

I rubbed at the back of my head, looked myself over. No cuts or scrapes. Just bumps and bruises.

We were out on the plain. The RV was gone, replaced by a pancaked hunk of metal. An enormous spear-shaped crater where the aircraft had slammed into the ground.

Huey emerged from behind the wreckage, blood seeping through a deep gash in his forehead. It matched his shirt.

He offered me his soaking red hand and pulled me to my feet.

Where's Daisy and Uncle D? I asked.

Louie glanced at Huey. Huey shook his head.

I felt a sharp pain in my chest. You mean?

Louie removed his hat, stood clutching it at his waist.

I dropped to one knee.

Huey said: I'm sorry.

My insides churned. Louie knelt beside me. I coughed and hacked until my throat grew sore but nothing would come up.

Once my stomach had settled I sank to the ground and rolled onto my back and just laid there breathing. That sun. That dry air.

I could hear Louie crying, Huey mumbling softly to himself.

There wasnt anything we could've done, he said.

* * *

I was the one with the cellphone. Daisy and Uncle D had entrusted it to me.

We just dont have the same confidence in your brothers, they'd professed.

Didnt matter. Huey and, to a lesser extent, Louie were always stealing the thing out of my sockdrawer, my backpack, the insoles of my church shoes—wherever I'd hidden it. They were experts at sniffing out secrets.

I fished the phone out of my shirt pocket and dialed the police.

Nine-one-one, they declared hurriedly. State your emergency.

Then the line went dead.

I dialed again, but this time the call would not go through at all.

What happened?

Search _me._

What did they say?

They didnt say anything. I couldnt get through.

Lemme see it.

Huey tried his luck, but with no better results.

We'll never get service way out here, he concluded, closing the phone in disgust. We need to move.

Move? Where?

Higher.

No—let's stay put, Louie blurted out. After a crash like that someone's bound to be on their way.

Huey nodded thoughtfully, blinking the blood out of his eyes. What do you think, Dew?

* * *

Huey and I headed south toward the steppes, leaving Louie to wait for help by the scene of the accident.

The wind hurled sand in our faces. Huey led the way.

Fucking baby, he spat, glancing back over one shoulder.

In the distance Louie stood up and waved.

Give him a break, I said.

A break? We're brothers. We stick together. Through thick and thin.

He's just being cautious.

He ditched us, Huey snorted.

We ditched him.

That's your opinion.

I rolled my eyes. Whatever.

At the top of the hill Huey motioned for me to stop, then dug the phone out of his pocket and tried dialing the police again.

No luck?

After a moment he lowered the phone and shook his head and sank down on a rock to catch his breath.

You think, he began slowly, if I hadnt told Daisy to turn the car around—

I dont know, Hughson.

He sat with his chin in his hands, staring at me.

What do you wanna hear? I asked.

That it was all my fault.

It wasnt anybody's fault, I said, swatting at a gnat.

He smiled weakly. Thanks, Dew.

We should keep moving.

Just gimme a minute. He was holding his head, his hands covered with fresh blood.

I didnt argue.

After a while I said: What do you think happened?

I dont know.

I've never seen a plane just—

Go down like that?

I nodded.

It didnt look like just any old plane to me, he said.

Maybe it wasnt.

He narrowed his eyes at me.

We cant be far from Groom Lake, I reminded him.

You and your conspiracy theories.

He held out his hand and I helped him up.

By the way, how'd you get so lucky? he asked.

What do you mean?

He pointed to his cut up face, then at my flawless one, shaking his head in bewilderment. Not a scratch, he muttered.

I shrugged. Search _me._

* * *

We climbed higher. And although he had slowed down significantly, Huey still insisted on being in the lead.

Does it hurt? I asked.

What?

Your head?

Yeah.

A lot?

Sometimes.

Suddenly he held up.

What's wrong?

Dizzy, he said, placing his hands on his knees.

Can you make it?

I can make it.

You should wait here.

No.

Gimme the phone.

No.

It's mine anyway.

We'll do it together.

With that he pushed past me and continued on up the ridge. I stood watching him in silence, my webbed feet sizzling on the sunwashed rocks.

After a while I started up behind him. He was climbing faster now, hand over hand, as if he had something to prove, pausing every few seconds to glance back at me.

I played my part. I slowed up.

When he reached the peak with a whole ducklength to spare he immediately wheeled around and stood waving his arms in triumph. As expected.

You win, I yelled up at him, wiping the sweat off the back of my neck.

For a moment he stood surveying the view, his chest heaving in and out. Then he removed the phone from the seat of his shorts and thumbed redial.

I've got a good feeling about this, he said, raising the phone to his ear.

Is it ringing?

The wind died down.

It's ringing!

Then a loud pop echoed in the valley behind him.

His throat exploded outward.

I sucked in a breath full of dust.

A dark spurt of blood dribbled down the front of his teeshirt.

He reached for his neck, eyes huge and white as pearls. Choking. The phone slipped out of his hand and went clattering down the cascade behind him.

His knees wobbled. His legs gave out.

Then he was gone.

The wind picked up again.

I clung to the rocks, heart banging through my ribs.

Oh no. Oh no.

I pushed my eyes up over the ridge.

A sharp twang issued from the rock in front of me. I couldnt see the bullet, only the deep X-shaped crack it left behind.

I reached for my brother's hand. I shouted his name.

Another loud pop.

Huey—we've gotta get outta here!

But his hand wasnt moving. Nothing was moving.

The rock I'd been using for a foothold gave way just as the next shot sounded. I lost my balance. The sky traded places with the ground. I came down hard on my head and for a moment everything went black.

Then I was up and trembling, feeling around in the hot and suddenly blinding sunlight. The world slid back into focus.

My clothes were full of dirt and dust. Head pounding.

I sank to my knees and pressed my forehead to the ground, squeezing my eyes shut and folding my arms around them so as to blot out all light.

Until the only thing I could see, projected specter-like onto the back of my eyelids, was his hand.


	3. A Very Serious Offense

Louie didnt hesitate. He was up and running at me the moment I came stumbling into view. Alone.

We met midway across the plain, him with his hands and his shoulders raised in a sort of perpetual shrug, yelling: Where's Huey?

One hand went shakily to my stomach, fighting down whatever it was had begun quivering in there.

Dewey—what happened?

Something was wrong. That much he could tell. He had eyes.

While he stood gaping at me I slumped exhaustedly to the dirt and tore off my Yankees jersey and buried my face in it.

Please dont, he was saying. Please. Dont.

Cicadas droning over the hushed murmur of the wind.

I dont wanna hear it, he said, shaking his head.

The jersey fell from my face. I gazed up at him hopelessly.

He's gone.

Louie cocked an eyebrow, as if he'd misheard me. Gone?

They shot him, I spat out.

Who?

I dont know. I couldnt see them.

You couldnt see them?

I laid back in the dirt and closed my eyes and covered my face with my elbows. We thought we might get a better signal, I explained, if we just kept climbing. But we must've gotten too close.

To what?

The base. Area 51.

His legs turned to noodles. This cant be real, he whimpered, crumbling to the ground next to me.

It was my fault, I blurted out. I let him go on ahead, let him be the leader. He was hurt. I should've gone first. I should've said something.

But Louie wasnt listening. He had his hat turned frontward, wrenched down over his eyes, tears inching slowly down his cheeks. He didnt even attempt to wipe them away.

For a long time neither of us spoke. Overwhelmed by the emptiness.

We might've sat there baking in the sun for hours had we not been stirred by the sound of an approaching vehicle.

Where the road met the sky a tiny black speck had motored into view, obscured by dust, blurred by the heat of the asphalt.

What do we do? Louie asked.

What can we do?

Hide.

They'll find us.

How do you know?

They're tracking us. They have to be.

Louie made a face.

I shrugged. Let's see what they want.

They'll kill us. Like they killed Huey.

Big whoop, I said coldly. We should be dead already.

Dewey?

It's the truth.

Near the crashsite stood a flat yet regal boulder the color of fresh carrots. We sat together on the rim of the boulder, kicking at the dirt, watching wordlessly as the approaching black speck morphed first into a sort of rectangle, then again into an unremarkable Chevy pickup.

At an unthreatening pace the truck came lumbering down from the road and slowed to a halt not twenty yards from where we sat.

I slid to my feet. Louie did the same.

Each of the front doors swung open. Two men of average height stepped out into the dust and the dirt. They wore camouflaged fatigues, aviator lenses.

For a long time they stood surveying the mountain of rubble stacked smoking along the roadside. Then they started toward us.

You boys all by yourselves out here? asked the one on the left.

We are now, I choked.

How old are you?

Fourteen, we answered in unison.

You're trespassing.

We didnt know, Louie protested, playing with the bill of his hat.

We were about to turn around, I added. But this plane came out of nowhere and—

Trespassing in a restricted area is a very serious offense, said the man on the right, handcuffs clinking from his belt.

Louie stared at them in fear. We werent the ones driving, he stammered.

But they were finished talking to us.

* * *

Like a captive dog I sat watching the road glean by, hands cuffed behind my back, alone with Louie in the rattling dustsmeared cabin of their truck.

For the length of the ride he refused to take his eyes off me, and I refused to meet his eyes for fear of what they might contain.

Anger, blame, disappointment…

The truck rolled on through checkpoint after checkpoint, each time stopping before an unmarked booth crammed with armed guards so that each of the vehicle's occupants could be verified.

Who're they? the guards would ask, gesturing toward Louie and I.

Trespassers, the driver would reply.

How old're they?

Fourteen.

Alright. Go on.

And we'd go on.

The base at Groom Lake had always been an interest of mine. Hours spent websurfing in search of bleary satellite images, long-lens stills snapped from Tikaboo Peak, insider accounts.

But now all that intrigue was replaced with fear, the kind of fear that could only come from without, from being stripped of all self-control.

The truck continued up an unmarked road through a widely-spaced corridor of hangarbays and numbered warehouses, none too tall, all orderly, painted dusty red or sandy brown or nothing at all. The place looked mostly deserted. Two men in hardhats standing smoking in front of an empty E-series van.

Our escorts garaged the truck and hurried us down a flight of stairs to a cramped access elevator located in the loft below. For a long time the elevator whirred hollowly, not seeming to move, us watching in silence as the panel above the keypad ticked rapidly toward B20.

Our ears popped.

When the doors reeled open we were marched quickly up a long red-striped hallway before being spun around, uncuffed and deposited like mental patients inside an empty bluegray room.

The door hissed shut behind us.

Louie slumped to the floor, leaned back against the wall. I chanced a look at his eyes, but he had them lowered.

After a while I joined him on the floor.

Without looking up he asked me: What do you think happened to Hugh?

What do you mean?

I mean—do you think he went to Heaven?

I dont know, Louis.

I didnt ask you what you _knew,_ he snarled.

My eyes finally met his. I dont believe in Heaven, I said.

The door reopened. Two men in dark blue fatigues stormed in, grabbed Louie by either arm and dragged him thrashing out into the hallway.

I didnt move.

Once they were gone an older man in similar getup entered the room brandishing clipboard and pen and stood smiling down at me as if I were some trophy to be admired. His hair was neatly combed, entirely gray. A small mouth. The outline of a beard.

His eyes fell to his clipboard.

Name? he read aloud, pointing at me with the tip of his pen.

I didnt answer.

Name? he repeated.

I gazed down at my feet, which were splayed out in front of me, still smeared with dirt.

The old man shrugged, scribbled something on his clipboard. Age: fourteen, he mumbled. Gender: male. Species: duck. Or is that too general?

Again I remained silent.

It's funny, he went on, lowering his clipboard. Nevada's a huge tourist state. Mostly due to Vegas—but we're up there too you know. You'd be amazed how many UFO chasers come spilling over that border every day, the point of no return.

With a sigh he flopped down next to me, placed a hand on my shoulder.

That your brother out there? he asked. What's his name?

No answer.

Dont worry. He'll tell us.

The hand withdrew.

He'll tell us everything, the old man said. He's the weak one. The emotional one.

I looked up at him.

But you already knew that, he smirked.

The guards came for me next, hoisting me up by the elbows.

Be strong, I whispered to Louie as we passed each other in the hallway.

I couldnt be sure he'd heard me.


	4. Alone and Crumbling

Louie told them everything. Whatever there was to tell. What we'd seen, where we were from. His name, my name. Even Huey's, Daisy's and Uncle D's.

They made me watch him through a smoked-out, blue-tinted two-way mirror, him sitting in the floor, eyes streaming. Alone and crumbling.

It was a prototype B-13 stealth bomber that'd crashed into our RV, the old man confided. Remote-piloted. Smaller, lighter and faster than previous models.

Louie didnt appear as if he knew what to do with that information—or where to file it.

The old man went on. They'd recovered Huey's body from the steppes and were currently shipping it off to Rachel for processing. Within a week or two the coroner would sign a waiver and the body'd be trucked back to the base for medical research.

There was nothing we could do about it.

* * *

Why dont you believe in Heaven?

Why should I?

I didnt say you should.

I frowned: It's just a gut feeling I have.

No it isnt, he snapped. You're not like Huey. You dont think with your gut.

My eyes slunk to the floor. I dont believe in Heaven because I cant believe in Hell.

What do you mean?

I mean—I cant believe in Hell. I cant imagine a world shittier than the one we live in.

You're too severe, Dewey.

Too severe? What am I missing?

My point, for starters. You're only mad at the world because you remember how much you used to love it, how much it used to mean to you.

Dont lecture me.

Stop acting like you're so different. Like you've seen something I havent. Like you know something I dont. We've both been through hell.

Through hell? Where were you when they shot him? Where were you when they _killed_ him?

For a long time he didnt say anything, hurt.

I watched his eyes flitter restlessly. You're a fucking child, Lou.

And? You're a coward.

I laughed at that.

You heap all the pain on yourself, he said, instead of looking for someone to share it with. Because it's easier that way. Because you're afraid that in reality you might not be to blame.

I dont want to talk about it.

Neither do I. But I'm trying. I'm trying to understand.

There's nothing to understand.

Then why blame yourself? Why _didnt_ you stop him?

* * *

My eyelids parted, letting in darkness.

I sat up, arms outheld, feeling around with my fingertips.

Two huge squares of light winked open in front of me. Windows.

Please approach the glass, they said.

I wobbled to my feet, the floor cold and slick. I staggered forward. White light melting to blue.

Through the rightmost window I could see Louie slouched in the floor embracing his knees. I placed my palms on the glass but he could not see me back.

I tore my eyes away, hurling them at the other window.

My heart stopped.

Slumped in a wheelchair with a blood drip fitted to one arm and a breathing tube snaked through his heavily-bandaged throat was Huey.

His eyes were closed, his shirt removed. Thin and fragile and pale.

Again the windows spoke.

To your left and to your right are switches. Triggering either will release one hundred grays of ionized radiation into the corresponding chamber, a fatal dosage.

At the sound of the tone you will have two hundred seconds to administer a fatal dosage to one of your brothers. If after two hundred seconds you have not yet made a decision, both will be administered a fatal dosage.

Your heart and respiratory rate are being monitored.

A single low note rang out.

For a moment longer I stared at Huey. He was breathing, his chest swelling. Alive.

Somehow. Impossibly.

I pictured him eating breakfast. Throwing a football. In Uncle D's backyard, wrestling me to the ground. I pictured him up on that rock with his arms raised, laughing. His throaty voice whispering: We're brothers. We stick together.

Then I turned to Louie. I pounded on the glass, flung both fists at it, but he wouldnt budge. He couldnt hear me.

My mouth tasted like iron. Slowly I backed away. How much time did I have? God damn it.

Huey was hurt. Badly. Who knew if he'd even pull through. What if he couldnt talk, couldnt breathe on his own? He wouldnt want to live like that. Wouldnt want to go on.

Louie hadnt done anything wrong. How did they expect me to choose?

My fingers gripped the switch below Huey's window. I peered up at him. His head nodding.

Another low tone sounded.

I tried flicking my wrist but it wouldnt obey. I didnt want to be his executioner, didnt want to think of myself that way. There had to be another option. A button or a lever or a knob somewhere that would fry me instead. All of this was my fault. It had to be.

I could hear Louie's voice murmuring: Why don't you believe in Heaven?

I want to. I want to believe in something. I want to believe in everything.

My hand moved.

There was a flash, followed by a dull bass humming.

Louie gazed up from the floor.

I tried shutting my eyelids but somehow they kept springing open.

Louie palmed his forehead. Then he clutched his stomach. Then he was on his feet, leaning back against the wall. He doubled over, a thin pink drool escaping his bill. For a moment he stood bowlegged in that awkward posture, then he slumped to the floor and lay shaking.

And lay shaking.

I couldnt look.

A door slotted open to my left. Blue light flooded in. I staggered toward it, through it, into the next room.

Huey didnt move when I touched his wrist. He didnt flinch when I touched his neck.

I pressed my ear to his chest. I listened.

Not until the old man entered did his eyelids slick open.

I've done something terrible, I said to him.

But he only stared through me.

At some point I'd sunk to the floor, to my knees.

I could hear the old man approaching, his boots clopping hollowly. Slowly I lifted my head.

He squished Louie's hat down over my eyebrows and turned the bill backward. Then he left the room, signaling for an escort.


	5. Waiting On God

I draped Huey's arm around my shoulders, propping him up as we walked. He wore only his red shorts and the now blood red bandages they'd used to wrap his neck.

Two uniformed guards paced along behind us.

The corridor angled suddenly upward, narrowing like a funnel. At the top of the ramp hung a dusty plastic curtain. With my free hand I brushed it aside, lowering Huey's head as we slipped through.

The floor here was not stainless steel but moist cement, the ceiling inlaid with rickety vent shafts and pink insulator. Exposed wires.

In an alcove marked off by caution stripes stood an empty electric cart. Huey and I clambered stumblingly into the back while our escorts manned the controls. Slowly the cart rolled backward, motor only softly whirring.

Huey's entire body lurched forward. I clamped my arms around his waist to steady him. His head nodded weakly from side to side. The cart accelerated.

We set off cruising down a long dark tunnel full of dips and potholes where condensed water stood black in puddles and as the cart rode over them a thin cool mist splashed up into our faces.

I gripped Huey tighter. I could feel his weight. I could feel him leaning into me. In the floor our feet were just touching.

Every ten or so yards another bright band of yellow light washed over us. Our shadows pulled suddenly away, then disappeared entirely. We were picking up speed.

I hugged my brother and I closed my eyes. His heart was beating so slowly.

After a while the cart turned in to a small garage and we all dismounted. It was very dark in there, the only light a pale amber cone that had crept in from the tunnel.

A door led through to what looked like a makeshift bedroom. The floor was made of wood, unfinished, and the walls were a dull beige. Along the left wall stood two bunked beds made up with thin white sheets. The entire room smelled like dust and primer.

At once the door swung shut behind us. I didnt check to see if it was locked. It had to be.

On each bed lay a small pillow and on each pillow lay a set of new clothes. A gray pullover shirt and gray sweats. With some effort I worked Huey's head through one of the shirts and pulled the pants up over his shorts. He was already asleep when I tucked him into the lower bunk. He'd been asleep for a long time.

After gazing down at my shadow I realized that I was still wearing Louie's hat. With one hand I reached up to remove it, then set it down at the foot of Huey's bed and trudged to the door to switch off the lights.

In the dark I changed clothes and clambered up to the top bunk. No sound save Huey's shaky breathing. And with my face buried in my pillow I lay listening until the dreams came.

* * *

I dreamed that I was dead, laid out on a gurney in the middle of Uncle D's living room.

Everyone was there, and one by one they appeared heavy-shouldered at my side, a carousel of sunken faces.

They said things like: Dewey, I'm so sorry.

And to each other: At least he went peacefully. In his sleep.

And I nodded thanks as they passed.

Along the sunfacing wall below the grandfather clock Louie stood crying into Daisy's shoulder. Crying silently. I felt a pain in my chest. I reached for him, but he was too far away.

Slowly his face turned toward me and for an instant I could see his eyes.

He was terrified.

Then Huey sprang out in front of me, gripping my hand in his, obscuring my view. He said: Fucking baby.

And when I peered down at him his legs were missing.

* * *

I jolted awake, suddenly cold.

In the ceiling something rattled. I sat up listening. Between Huey's soft slow breaths there was another low rattle, then nothing.

How long had I slept?

Shaking with cold I slipped out of bed and hopped down from the top bunk. The floor was hard and cold and my bare feet seemed to cling to it as I groped blindly for the lightswitch.

When the lights came up I went and knelt by Huey's bedside. He was still asleep, a black halo of blood staining his pillow. More dried in his feathers. At some point during the night he'd kicked Louie's green hat to the floor and it now lay upturned so that the tag on the inside was visible.

In permanent marker: Lou Lou.

I scooped up the hat and replaced it on my head. It was freezing cold. Then I nudged my brother's shoulder.

Hugh? I said.

But he only clenched his eyelids tighter.

Hugh, I want to tell you something.

I wondered if he could hear me, even unconsciously.

Resting my elbows on the bed I choked: I dont know what's gonna happen.

I studied my fingers. For the first time all day I could feel tears gobbing in my eyes, and as I opened my mouth to speak everything went blurry.

I told Louie I didnt believe in Heaven. Didnt believe in Hell. Kind of wish I did now. It'd make everything so much easier. That's the beauty of it. Nothing to cry about.

We'll see him again, Hugh. If there is a Heaven. And he'll laugh at us for crying. He'll laugh at me for saying that I dont believe in Heaven. But I _dont_ believe in Heaven, and that's what scares me. More than dying here. More than anything. It means he's gone. It means—that voice, that essence, that beautiful soul that was him—it means we've lost it. Swept away like mist in the sunlight. That's what I'm afraid of. I'm afraid of what I believe to be true.

But it's like I told him. The world's too random. Our lives are too random. How could the end be so fucking tidy? How could we _know?_

It's an excuse. It's an excuse to avoid thinking about the hurt. We've got to judge ourselves, Hugh. We've got to assign blame. Cant waste our lives waiting on God.

I rubbed at my eyes, lifting them to meet Huey's, which were at last open and clear.

I smiled a broken, embarrassed smile.

His bill parted as if to form words. Then he froze and reached for his bandaged throat.

You dont have to say it, I told him. You dont have to say it.

His free hand gripped my wrist, his narrowed eyes tracing my features.

I gazed down at his hand. He squeezed tighter. Then he let go and pressed his index finger to my forehead.

A tear dripped from the lip of my bill. You dont have to say it, Hugh.

And with a bang the door burst open.

We were swept out into the garage, crammed again into the backseat of the cart, and at once it took off, tires skipping over the dimpled cement.

Huey clutched my hand as if it were the only thing preventing him from tumbling out. I could feel the blood draining from my fingers. I tried twisting free, but this time he would not let go.

You cant, Hugh.

The cart thumped over a pothole.

For an instant Huey's grip went slack. Cold water stung my eyes. I wrenched my hand away, pitching back too far over the railing. My stomach clenched. My entire body stiffened, knees arching up over my head. A moment of weightlessness. Then my left shoulder impacted the cement and I bit down on my tongue.

Blood flooded my mouth. I flopped onto my back, then again onto my stomach. The walls were spinning as I surged to my feet, and behind me the cart flashed its brakelights.

Momentum carried me back through the water and the water splooshed loudly as my heel broke the surface.

I could hear them hurrying after me, their boots hammering the cement.

Where the corridor split I broke left, following the incline downward, away from the lights.

Here the ceiling was dripping, mold coating the slick bare walls, water pooled waist-high in the low floor. For a moment my head went under and I could taste the stale coppery water, then I lurched up cold and soaked and dizzy, splashing on through the dark.

Until the barbs hooked into my back and every muscle in my body caught fire.


End file.
